The Search for the "MOLLY BROWN"

The Search for the “MOLLY BROWN”

Fred did not die as he expected. His return to where he had become a man (in his opinion) and where his best adventures happened was too peaceful.

Two months of waiting for another heart attack to happen showed him that it was not necessarily so. He never felt better, he was careful not to lift anything heavy. There had been no need to use even one of the nitro capsules. He walked out a few clams for chowder or for bait on his fishing line. The short walk to where he caught the rabbits, sometimes with a short stop at his little garden plot, was evidently just the exercise he needed.

He was not as contented as he thought he would be, once back at Ship Island. He had to admit to himself that he missed having company.

This evening as he watched the sunset from his and Bess’s favorite spot he thought of his lost boat. The (un¬sinkable) “MOLLY BROWN” had been lost to him when he was shot and thrown off a bridge to be drowned. How well he remembered, now that his amnesia had worn off. Where was she at? He decided to find out if possible. He thought, “Hell I’ve got plenty of money, it’s not like the old days when I had to scrounge and save to get by. The deal with the drug smugglers left me well fixed.”

Two days later with the island camp closed Fred sat in the skiff as she drifted with the tide south. The small settlements drifted astern. Fred waited for a city where he could buy a small cruiser that he could handle easily by himself.

A few teenage boys were fishing from a pile of rocks just up river of the town landing. Fred called to them to come to him. He showed a picture he had drawn of the “MOLLY BROWN” and asked if the boys had seen such a boat going past? This was his first attempt at questioning. “How would you two like to have my skiff?” He asked. The answer was quick to come and it was, “we sure would, beats heck out of fishing day after day from that old rock.” “All I want from you is that you keep your eyes opened for a boat like this sketch. I may be going by from time to time and will probably see you fishing. I will stop to ask.” He started off, “enjoy the skiff boys”, he said. They were in the boat arguing as to who was going to row, Fred doubted if they heard, but at least he thought they would remember if they saw a boat like the “MOLLY BROWN” pass by.

He sat on the ramp to replace his socks and shoes. He would first get a haircut then see about other things. He needed a lunch and then he would look for a nice boat. Just as Fred got to the highway a bus stopped. A passenger with his suitcase emerged. The “Charleston” sign was prominent across the front of it. On the spur of the moment Fred decided that his haircut and a meal could wait. He stepped into the bus, the driver seemed a little perturbed that he had no ticket. However no comment was made as Fred received his change and ticket from the driver. Fred sat just behind the driver and watched the scenery roll past, he fell asleep.

The noise of passengers getting ready to alight awoke him. He stepped out of the bus into the bright lights of the city. It was too late for a haircut and shave, but not too late to eat. He chose the first eating place that he saw; the McDonald’s place was quite crowded. An old Jew man was waiting for his turn at the counter. His feet were swelled; the ancient shoes were split for room for the swelling. A big black man entered, about thirty five and built like a football player. He glanced at the three lines and then passed Fred to step on the old Jew’s foot as he jostled him out of his spot at the counter. The black boy at the counter grinned as he placed his order. The pathetic old man held on to the counter for support. His complaint to the counter man was ignored as he hobbled to a chair to rest.

As a Don Quixote, Fred was glad that he had not received his haircut and shave. He followed the abuser of the elderly man outside. He slipped inside the car beside him. Fred said, “Let’s get out of here”. The big black backed up the car and drove out of the driveway and onto the main street. He said, “Hey man what’s this all about?” Fred answered by motioning him to pull into a lighted shopping mall, “Over there in that darkened section we can do our business there.” When the car was stopped the man reached in the bag on the seat between them and lifted out the thick shake, Fred used his left hand to get it and drop it back in the bag. “Hey! Man, what the hell do you think you are doing? For the first time he had seen the gun in Fred’s right hand. “Whatcha want man? Pot, crack I got plenty of both.” He moved fast with his right hand, he almost got shot as he pulled a handful of crack from the right jacket pocket. Fred was just able to stop his squeeze on the trigger. The well-oiled pistol in his hand was from the loot from the black smuggler.

“Whatcha want, money”, He opened his hand and the chunks of crack dropped on the car’s seat cushion near the opened McDonald’s bag. He went for a gun in his shoulder holster, or so Fred thought. The pistol spoke twice in rapid succession; Fred had leaned ahead and pushed the gun hard into his jacket. The sound of the shots was quieted by the thrust into the cloth. The big hand came back over the crack, and it had a roll of bills from the shirt pocket big enough to choke a fair sized horse. The hand was now a dead one.

The sounds of the shots reverberated through the car’s interior. Fred glanced around to see if they had created a disturbance outside. There was no commotion; he did not think the sounds had penetrated far outside.

Fred gathered the crack and tossed it into the paper bag: the roll of bills followed. With a napkin from the several that was in the bag, he wiped away any finger prints he may have left on the doors inside handle. About to open the door which would cause the light to come on he thought of what the man said, “Pot and crack too.” He opened the glove compartment. The light inside came on and he covered it quickly with the napkin. There was a number ten size envelope and under it a revolver. Fred took the two items and started to open his side door to emerge. He heard voices that were getting closer. He sat very still as the two, a man and a girl passed by to enter a pickup. The truck was gone in about a minute, but it seemed like an hour to the anxious Fred. He gave one final look all around then tapped the overhead light to break it. There was no light as he closed the door, McDonald’s bag in hand. Using the napkin he wiped the outside handle, as if he had never been near the car. He walked away quietly and unobserved.

While eating breakfast this morning his mind reflected back over what had happened yesterday. He read in the newspaper as he ate, that a local drug lord had been killed in what appeared to be a botched up drug buy.

Fred was pleased that he had not been clean shaven at the time. With a haircut and shave his appearance would be changed immensely should some person remember seeing him in the line at the fast food restaurant. A new suit would be the order of the day as well. Fred had plenty of money even discounting what he had just received last night. The trouble was that he had saved for so long to prepare for his years of retirement. Now he found it almost impossible to change from his frugal ways.

He had the McDonald bag with the dope and money in his left side jacket pocket. He heard the wrinkle of it as he sat in the barber chair. The young barber offered to hang the jacket on the hook be more comfortable, Fred shrugged off the offer. He wanted no one to feel the weight.

Now that his looks had changed from the night before he was ready for new horizons, he felt as he went into the Men’s Shop.